


Lucky

by gildedfrost



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Gavin Reed, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Menstruation, Sickfic, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost
Summary: “Oh my god, you’re actually shaking.” Gavin shoves his hand against Connor’s forehead, and it’s blissfully cool. This close, Connor can see every detail of the jagged scar across his nose, the skin never fully covering the chassis which has long since been welded closed. “Huh. No fever.”“I appreciate your concern, but I’m this close to punching you right now,” Connor says. He’s also very close to crying, or throwing something, and Gavin’s not making it easier to keep a lid on his emotions. Belatedly, he realizes he’s still wearing nothing but underwear.“Aw, man, you’re so goddamn polite. Don’t you ever want to let loose? Let people know how you really feel?”
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed
Comments: 13
Kudos: 181





	Lucky

Thunder rumbles outside, low and rolling like Connor’s emotions. It’s dark before sunset and the clouds are heavy with rain, threatening to drench the city in a sorely-needed downpour. The temperature is supposed to cool, and after a week of record-breaking high temperatures, Connor is more than ready for it.

He lies on the couch in his apartment, air conditioning on blast and wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. Everything feels gross. He’s sweating from heat and chills, his legs ache something terrible, and it feels like he’s been stabbed in the stomach. He’s hungry but too exhausted to move, having used the bulk of his energy just to make it through the day, leaving work an hour early when he started feeling feverish, wondering if he’d gotten sick.

Nope. Just nature trying to kick him in the ass with his first period in years.

He pushes himself to drink from his glass of water, damp with condensation, before lying back down and flicking through the apps on his phone. No new notifications, nothing to hold his attention, and he wins 2048 in five minutes before he drops the phone to his chest with a grimace.

He already drank a glass of water, ate a bowl of spinach, and choked down some medication, but it hurts so bad he’s ready to chase it down with half a bottle of vodka. (He knows it would make it worse, but it would be a distraction.) He doesn’t have tea or a heating pad, and he hasn’t bought ice cream or chocolate for weeks. Stubbornly, he refuses to order groceries via delivery drone, not wanting to pay the fee or answer a machine at the door, and he’s already picked a fight with his washing machine today.

A non-sentient machine, that is. Androids are alright.

As if on cue, his phone lights up, receiving multiple texts in quick succession. He knows who it is even before checking it. Only one person sends him that many texts at once. “Shut up, Gavin,” he says even as he checks the messages.

_> GV: hey_  
_> GV: meatsack_  
_> GV: you left your raincoat_  
_> GV: lt miserable said you weren’t looking so hot_  
_> GV: pot, kettle_  
_> GV: he doesn’t look a day under 70_  
_> GV: found your lunch in the fridge btw_  
_> GV: who the fuck eats asparagus for lunch_  
_> GV: and why the fuck didn’t you_  
_> GV: i can see read receipts you know_  
_> GV: so reply to me_  
_> GV: asshole_

“Jesus.” Connor’s known Gavin since before the revolution, when he was one of the station’s androids, a bit dinged up but still in working order. He adapted his personality to match whomever he was working with: Friendly with Hank, calm and professional with Ben, casual and dickish with Connor. Turns out that last one is what he preferred after deviating and he quit being nice almost altogether. One year later, the captain welcomed him back with a paying job, partnering him up with senior officers as needed for various cases. He doesn’t work with Hank and Connor much, given that they’re already partners, but Connor’s slowly gotten to know him in the year he’s been back with them.

_> Connor: got dick_  
_> Connor: *sick_

_> GV: haha dick_

_> Connor: I’m off tomorrow so I’ll see you monday_

There’s no way he’s going into work tomorrow. Even if he manages a good morning, he’s going to feel like shit between the chills, pain, and the potential disaster waiting to happen if he keeps bleeding this bad. It was easy to convince Captain Fowler he was sick just from how he was shaking before he left, at least.

_> GV: damn an entire day off??_  
_> GV: do i need to call an ambulance_  
_> GV: are you dying_

_> Connor: unfortunately not_

_> GV: good to see you’re still wrapped up in the casual fatalism of your generation_  
_> GV: big mood honestly_  
_> GV: so do you actually have real food at your shitty apartment_  
_> GV: or is dinner cigarettes and lettuce_  
_> GV: with a side of vodka_

Sometimes Connor wishes he could get the texts one by one instead of instantly, because it feels like the conversation is moving inhumanly fast. He hasn’t thought ahead to dinner, even though it’s late enough he should probably eat something substantial, but he knows he doesn’t have much, and he’s not very keen on actually standing and making something.

_> Connor: I thought I’d knock back espresso shots until I vibed into the ether_

_> GV: man if that’s what you want_

He sets the phone on the coffee table and closes his eyes, ignoring the next few buzzes of his phone. Everything hurts and it’s not going away. He might as well lie here until he can’t anymore, because doing things and not doing anything both seem like overwhelming options, and he’s here already so why not stay?

When the ache worsens, he groans and considers calling one of his brothers. Maybe even Hank, because god knows they don’t have any shame between the two of them after all they’ve been through. But even that seems like too much effort.

Connor dozes off without making any decisions, staring at his ceiling and pretending he doesn’t exist, up until there’s a knock at his door.

He ignores it, just like he ignores his phone buzzing against the table. But then there’s a click as whoever it is manages to unlock the apartment door’s digital lock. Connor sits straight up.

There’s no need for alarm: It’s just Gavin. A couple of shopping bags hang from the black chassis of his hand, his forearms perpetually absent of synthskin. Connor’s raincoat is draped over his shoulder.

Gavin’s eyes land on Connor and he whistles, kicking the door shut. “You look nasty,” he says, dropping the bags on the kitchen table and leaving the coat over the back of a chair. He saunters over, putting his hands on his hips and looking down at Connor. “You’re sweating so much it’s making me feel bad. What the hell kind of fever do you have?”

“I don’t. Why are you here?”

“Oh my god, you’re actually shaking.” He shoves his hand against Connor’s forehead, and it’s blissfully cool. This close, Connor can see every detail of the jagged scar across his nose, the skin never fully covering the chassis which has long since been welded closed. “Huh. No fever.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m this close to punching you right now,” Connor says. He’s also very close to crying, or throwing something, and Gavin’s not making it easier to keep a lid on his emotions. Belatedly, he realizes he’s still wearing nothing but underwear.

“Aw, man, you’re so goddamn polite. Don’t you ever want to let loose? Let people know how you really feel?” Gavin meanders back to the kitchen, looking through the cupboards and fridge.

“I feel like shit and you’re not helping.”

“I brought food.”

“Not hungry.”

Gavin grabs a tin from one of the bags and opens it, dumping the contents into a questionably washed pan atop the stove. “I’ve never cooked anything without a microwave before,” he muses.

“You broke the microwave,” Connor says, recalling the incident in the DPD break room. He stands and walks over to the table, wincing at the sudden pain in his legs, and investigates the bags.

A couple tins of soup, all chicken varieties. Powdered cold medicine. Two pints of generic brand ice cream, one cookies and cream and the other moose tracks. Sprinkles. Potato chips. A premade salad with a discount sticker on it. Frozen peas.

“Did Hank put you up to this?”

“Hell no. That old dick can’t make me do shit. Now put the cold stuff away before it melts.” He points vaguely at the ice creams with a spoon. “One of those is mine.”

“Got it.” Connor does as he’s told, putting everything in its place. He leans against the freezer box, leaving it open longer than necessary. It feels good. Despite the air conditioning and near nudity, he’s still too hot.

“Hey.” Gavin’s hand grasps his wrist. It feels as mechanical as it looks. “Don’t pass out on me. I didn’t come all this way just to scrape you off the floor.”

Connor nods. “Got it,” he repeats, feeling monumentally more tired than he did a minute ago. He downs a few more painkillers and fills a glass with ice and water. Passing out sounds pretty good, actually.

Gavin guides him back towards the sofa. “This is the point where I should tell you to see a doctor, but we both know you won’t, so I’m not going to unless you actually start dying on me.”

“God, I feel like I am.” He sinks into the cushions and the pressure on his lower back lessens.

“So how long until those meds kick in?” Gavin asks. He’s back in the kitchen, tending to the soup.

“An hour.” If he hadn’t waited so long, they wouldn’t have worn off in the first place. “More if I’m unlucky.”

Gavin whistles. “That’s some bullshit.”

When the soup is done, he ladles some of it in a mug and offers it to Connor, who holds it in his hands. The steam is pleasant, but it’s too hot to drink.

Gavin drops beside him. “You really won’t be feeling better tomorrow?”

“Worse, maybe. I’ve always had it this bad. Sucks.” Connor shrugs. “I hate admitting when I can’t do something, but there’s no way I can get anything done tomorrow.”

“Great. I’m coming over after lunch.”

Connor stares at him, mind working slowly. “What?”

“So we watch a movie or two tonight and work through the ice cream, then do it again tomorrow, because, man, on top of this shit, you really need to relax once in a goddamn while.” Gavin slaps his shoulder lightly. “You’re not a machine and you need to quit acting like one.”

“But you have work.”

“And I have vacation days, and blackmail if I can’t get the time off. Idling in the precinct after hours was boring as shit, but hell if I don’t have some information that’d put the whole place in hot water.”

“It’s embarrassing enough that I’m taking time off. You don’t need to do all this.”

“Don’t test me, bone boy. I’ve made up my mind. You can kick me out if you want to be miserable on your own, and then I’ll go have fun, on my own, without you. Your choice.”

Connor’s eyes widen. “Oh my god,” he whispers. “Androids don’t have bones.”

“Don’t get me started. You have muscles and guts and all that gross stuff. Eugh.”

Connor laughs, the sound bright and clear. He looks down at the mug of soup. “Thank you,” he says. “You know, for coming here. Buying food. I never expected you to care.”

“If I can care when you almost get shot, I can care when you’re suffering the plight of being human.” Gavin wraps an arm around his shoulders, the metal cool against his bare skin. “Even if it makes you gross and needy.”

“I’ll shower before the movie. Promise.”

“You better. Lucky I can’t smell.”

“Yeah. Lucky,” Connor says. That’s a good word for it, he thinks, leaning into Gavin’s touch as he begins to sip at his soup.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Fun sidenote: "got dick" was a legit typo on my part, but there's no way I could take that out.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @gildedfrost (18+), and I spend time in the [New ERA](https://discord.gg/2EKAAz3) DBH Discord server as well!


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